


The King and The Lionheart

by DistrictHeathdene



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Clarke Griffin & John Murphy Friendship, F/M, Grounder Bellamy Blake, Grounder Octavia Blake, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Murphy is a Little Shit, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-06 18:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8763589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistrictHeathdene/pseuds/DistrictHeathdene
Summary: The citizens of the Ark had been at war with the Grounder clans since Clarke had been born; since the birth of her parents, and their parents before them. Each side claimed that the other had started the feud, but there was no longer anyone alive who remembered the cause of the animosity. Like the changing of the seasons, it was simply a fact of life.
OR
Another Arranged Marriage AU





	1. Chapter 1

As the sun rose, the forest came alive in vibrant shades of green. Leaves rustled in the cool breeze; shoots of grass tipped with morning dew crunched beneath Clarke’s boots; moss grew in clusters on the trunks of the trees and the rocks that she passed. Above her head, birds hopped between branches, singing to each other as light crept over the woodland.

Clarke inhaled deeply. She imagined the fresh air cleansing her lungs as she breathed in and out. The forest always made her feel this way; pure and free. It was so different to her usual world; foreign and tantalisingly beyond her reach; but she felt more at home here, alone amongst the trees, than surrounded by her people behind the Ark’s metal walls.

The tight, grey corridors of the Ark made her feel trapped; confining instead of comforting. The little, square gardens and tropical greenhouses behind the walls were nothing compared to the real thing. They were too neat, too still. Artificial.

Clarke had painted them hundreds of times, thousands, maybe. No matter how many paintings she made, they never seemed to turn out right. They were too still, tight and lifeless on the canvas. Her paintings of the forest were different. She was still trying to perfect the life and movement of the woods in her artwork, but she never got bored of trying.

There was a piece of canvas rolled up and strapped to her back, and a bag filled with paints and brushes slung over her shoulder. It bumped against her hip as she walked. The sound was soft, but it seemed too loud in the forest, out of place in the wilderness.

She hadn’t really gone _far_ , she never did, but the trees were so densely packed here that it felt miles from the Ark.

Clarke knew the dangers that the forest held, of course. She had been born into a community that feared anything beyond its gates. A fear that had only intensified as she grew, with the death of a Chancellor and a new political era.

The citizens of the Ark had been at war with the Grounder clans since Clarke had been born; since the birth of her parents, and their parents before them. Each side claimed that the other had started the feud, but there was no longer anyone alive who remembered the cause of the animosity. Like the changing of the seasons, it was simply a fact of life.

Chancellors of the past had tried to ease the tensions, make a tentative peace between the peoples; but the collective fear within the Ark never allowed such a period of time to last long. Sooner or later there was a raid, or an attack on a hunting party, and the people would be once more whipped into a frenzy. The bloodshed would begin again and the Ark’s walls would grow ever higher.

Clarke didn’t like politics, they never changed.

The Guard were always recruiting, and by default, so were the Med Bay. It kept her busy. And when she wasn’t busy stitching up arrow wounds or studying antidotes to poisons alongside the other trainee Medics, she was out in the forest, painting.

Technically, only members of the Guard were allowed outside the walls, but Clarke didn’t much care for technicalities.

In the underbrush, a rabbit that was snuffling for food stilled as Clarke approached. Its glassy eyes widened, its nose twitching and whiskers tasting the air before it turned and darted back into hiding.

“Hey, I won’t hurt you,” she crooned as its tail disappeared into the bush.

“Talking to rabbits now, Griffin?” A sneering voice sounded behind her and Clarke nearly toppled over in shock.

“Shit,” She clutched a hand to her chest, flushing red as she took in the familiar lanky figure. “You scared the hell out of me,”

John Murphy smirked at her and shoved his hands into his pockets. There was a gun at his belt and a guard jacket zipped over his chest.

“Your hearing really is terrible, you know. I’ve been tracking you for about ten minutes now,”

“Well excuse me for not having extensive tracking training,” Clarke straightened, tucking her hair behind her ears and frowning. She didn’t like to be caught out.

“Not knocking your lack of training, Princess,” He ran his tongue over his teeth as he glanced around. “Just saying, you shouldn’t be out here alone. Shouldn’t be out here at all, actually,”

Clarke rolled her eyes and huffed out a laugh.

“Like you’ve ever given a shit about the rules, Murphy,”

“Today I do,” He tapped his Guard’s badge with his thumb, “I’m on duty.”

John Murphy was Clarke’s personal bodyguard and one of her closest friends. They were an unlikely pair, always bickering and making snide comments, but she trusted him. With her secrets, if not her liquor.

Their friendship had started when Clarke had taped up Murphy’s broken hand and didn’t ask questions. His Guard duty had begun when Murphy put a bullet through the head of a hungry wild-cat that Clarke had disturbed on one of her woodland wanderings.

Officially, unauthorised use of firearms would land you in a prison cell in the Ark, but _official_ didn’t mean much when you had saved the life of the Chancellor’s daughter.

Clarke didn’t much like having a bodyguard at all, but if she had to have one, she was glad it was her best friend. He was fun to be around, and he kept her trips outside of the wall a secret. That was important, without them she might go insane.

“With you here to guard me,” Clarke smiled sweetly, “Surely I can stay out a little longer. I haven’t even started my painting yet,” She pouted, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Like hell,” Murphy snorted unattractively. She never could charm him. “You’re gonna lose me my job. Underage drinking in the closest with you is not the same as batting my eyes at an unauthorised trip into enemy territory. Time to pack it up, Griffin”

Clarke was about to protest when a shout and the sound of someone falling through foliage, snapping branches and rustling leaves wiped the words from her brain.

“What the…?” Murphy reached out to grab Clarke’s arm, “We have to get you back, now.”

“No,” Clarke pulled her arm from his grip and started towards the noise, not sure why. Her heart was thudding and her mind was screaming at her to _turn around and go back_ but her feet were moving of their own accord.

“ _Clarke!_ ” Murphy was hissing her name. She heard him curse behind her.

Over the sound of her own heartbeat, Clarke could hear soft groans of pain. Her hand shook as she reached out and pushed apart a bush of dark, green leaves.

“Oh, Jesus,” Murphy was at her shoulder. Before them, sprawled uncomfortably on the ground was a young woman. A Grounder.

There was a long-bladed weapon sheathed at her hip, a bow and quiver of arrows crushed and splintered beneath her back. A warrior, though she couldn’t have been older than Clarke.

Her skin had turned pale under dark streaks of war-paint that was smeared on her cheeks and around closed eyes.

Her hair was wet with blood by her forehead and one leg was bent out unnaturally.

“Oh, God,” Clarke’s stomach was churning as she bent down by the woman’s head. Still breathing.

“Clarke, what the hell are you doing? Let’s go,” Murphy placed his hand on her shoulder. His touch was gentle but firm, his voice unsteady.

“She’s hurt,” Clarke placed her fingers tentatively to the woman’s neck, a soft pulse was fluttering beneath her fingertips. Clarke’s own blood was rushing loudly in her ears. She half expected the woman to jump up and slice her throat.

She had never met a Grounder before. She knew they were evil, that they had killed thousands of her people, killed her father. _No,_ a small voice inside her urged, _not this one. She’s just a girl._

“She’s hurt,” She repeated weakly.

“Yeah, and soon she’ll be dead. And we need to be gone before her friends come looking for her,”

Clarke turned to look into Murphy’s face. Watched him swallow. His eyes were glinting with a fear she didn’t usually see there, a fear that mirrored her own.

“No,” She bit her lip, “No, we have to help her,”

“Are you crazy? Clarke, these people are our enemy!”

“No, no, I don’t think so,” She shook her head.

The woman’s leg was broken, of that Clarke could be sure from the awkward angle at which it jutted from her body.

“You don’t _think_ so?” Murphy laughed without humour, “Well that’s just great.” He started to pull at her shoulder more insistently. “We need to go, now, before we both die and you get me fired and then locked up,”

Her leg was broken, Clarke couldn’t tell the severity of the head wound just by sight. She needed a proper Medic for that. The Grounder was still breathing, but she wasn’t moaning anymore.

Clarke shook Murphy’s hand away and pulled off her jacket, moving to tie it around the woman’s head as a makeshift bandage.

“Incredible,” Murphy laughed again, “Of all the people I could be paid to keep alive I get you, the fruit loop who’s just _asking_ for a death sentence. She was in the tree watching us! Probably planning an ambush, or maybe just preparing to take us out with one of those nice sharp arrows she’s lying on. And you want to _help_ her?”

“Should’ve used your tracking skills to spot her up there then, shouldn’t you?” Clarke stroked the woman’s dark hair as if to reassure her. “You’re gonna have to carry her, Murphy. She’s too heavy for me,”

“Can I just reiterate,” He spat even as he knelt beside her, “These people are our _enemy_ ,” He scooped the Grounder into his arms with a grunt.

“Not this one,” Clarke spoke with more assuredness than she felt, and hoped that she was right.


	2. Chapter 2

The sky was fully light by the time they made it back to the gates. The walls of the Ark towered over them. Gleaming in the early morning sun, they reflected the surrounding forest; appearing more green than silver. At the wall’s highest point, a web of thick wires hummed with electricity. An extra precaution, in case any Grounders somehow managed to scale the flat metal and reach the top. The gate itself was crisscrossed with more electric fencing, that snapped threateningly at intervals.

Murphy turned to face Clarke, eyebrows raised in an expression that begged the question; _now what?_

He was drooping slightly under the weight of the unconscious Grounder, his face pale and lips tight with exertion. The woman had not yet come to.

Clarke swallowed, gritted her teeth. She had come this far.

“Open the gate!”

Her fists were clenched tight at her sides and her leg shook with nervous energy. There was a long moment, made longer by the insistent pounding of her heart and the burn of Murphy’s glare on the back of her head.

_This was a bad idea,_ Clarke sucked in a breath as they waited. _This was a bad idea,_ she had known it straight away, but she couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her behind on the ground.

She was ready to shout again when a face appeared behind the wires and the hinges groaned loudly as the gate was rolled inwards to let them through.

“Clarke Griffin,” Major Byrne barked as Clarke hurried forward. “What were you doing outside the fence? Only Guard details are allowed beyond the walls, your Mother -” Her eyes widened as she looked past Clarke’s shoulder and took in her companions. She raised her gun to her shoulder, aimed it at the woman slung across Murphy’s arms.

“Miss Griffin, Cadet Murphy; what is the meaning of this?” The woman’s usual booming voice shook with fear. At the unconscious Grounder woman, or the trouble she was going to bring, Clarke couldn’t be sure.

The gate was already grinding to a close behind them and Clarke could see other people emerging around camp. Her pulse quickened. They had to get the Grounder to Medical and out of sight before things got crazy.

“Major Byrne,” Clarke began, leaning in with her urgency, “We need to get this woman to Medical, right now,”

The Major was already speaking low and fast into her walkie; _Guard detail report to main gate, we have an unconscious hostile inside the perimeter._

“If she’s unconscious she’s hardly hostile!”

She glanced between Clarke and Murphy. _Possible Traitorous Behaviour_.

“Traitorous?” Clarke spluttered, “This is ridiculous. A young woman needs medical attention. She’s in my care. I take responsibility for her,”

“ _Clarke_ ,” Behind her, Murphy hissed out a warning.

She followed his gaze to a group of Guards that were approaching, led by Charles Pike. Pike sat on her mother’s council, his stance was firmly Anti-Grounder. He disagreed with the Chancellor on most accounts, but he was popular with the people.

“Major,” Clarke pleaded. The oncoming Guards had weapons in hand, and they looked at her as if she were an enemy, not a respected member of the community. “I need to speak to my mother, don’t-”

“Drop your weapon Cadet Murphy!” Pike boomed a command as he approached. Murphy took a step back, tightening his grasp on the Grounder.

“I’m not holding my weapon,”

“Miss Griffin, step aside please,” Pike came to a halt in front of them.

“Councillor Pike, you don’t understand-” Her words were cut off abruptly as Pike nodded to the guards now surrounding them and Clarke was seized by both arms. “ _Hey!_ ”

She watched in horror as the Grounder girl was pulled roughly from Murphy’s arms, moaning.

_Responsive_ , Clarke’s medical brain observed as the rest of her shouted at them to _Stop! You’ll hurt her! Where is my mother? Where is the Chancellor?!_

“What are you doing? Ow! I haven’t _done_ anything!” Murphy was protesting as one of Pike’s lackeys pulled the gun from his belt and kicked it away. Her friend cursed as his wrists were locked together behind his back. His guard shoved him hard from behind to get him moving.

Clarke struggled against the strong hands that gripped her upper arms, watched her friend be led away in bonds. The grounder girl was no longer in her sight, but she could see a small crowd forming to watch the struggle. _What have I done?_

“Let me g _o_ ,” She strained against fingers that were sure to leave bruises, “You’re hurting me, I’m the chancellor’s _daughter!_ ”

Major Byrne stood before her, blue eyes hard in her lined face.

“I’m sorry to do this, Clarke, but you’ve broken the law.” She nodded over Clarke’s shoulder and the pressure on her arms increased, “You’re being detained.”

***

Clarke’s room was filled with half-finished paintings; flowers taking form against a stark background or a forest shaded green, waiting for the trees to be sketched in. The sides were cluttered with jars still full of cloudy water, brushes scattered beside pots of paint, pencil shavings decorating the floor where she had neglected to clear them up. An artful mess, she liked to tell her mother on the rare occasions that she visited. It sounded more sophisticated than _dirty_.

She stopped her pacing when she caught an inkwell with her hand and sent it tumbling to the floor, a black pool beginning to spread across the floorboards.

“Damnit,” Clarke cursed. She ran her fingers hard through her hair, massaging her scalp and tugging on knots in her curls.

“Maybe if you stopped your damn pacing and appreciated my company you wouldn’t be making your room even more of a tip than it already is,” Raven Reyes spoke dryly from where she was sprawled on Clarke’s bed, running long fingers over the hurried lines of a portrait. “You should do more portraits, this is good,” She mused. “Besides, I’m better looking than your plants,”

“It’s just a sketch.” Clarke snapped, softened. “Sorry, I’m just not really in the entertaining mood,”

 She plopped down beside her friend anyway, glancing at the paper she was holding. She had captured Raven’s likeness, the curve of her mouth, the glint in her eyes. But the lighting was all wrong, she needed to work under natural light, not the fluorescent white strip lights that decorated the ceilings of the Ark.

Raven raised an arched brow.

“Worried about your pet snake?”

The tension between Raven and Murphy was infamous and the choice topic of many jokes between Clarke’s friends.

“He’s not my _pet_ ,” Clarke growled with exasperation. “I haven’t seen him since -” she paused, envisioning the guard twisting his wrists and shoving him along, “- Since we got back. I haven’t seen anyone, no one will tell me anything,”

“What am I? A mirage? I’m hurt, Griffin,”

“I’m being serious.” Clarke rolled her eyes, “I’m worried about what they’re doing to him,”

“I know you are,” Raven thawed and leaned onto her elbow to look at Clarke. “I think the guy’s a piece of shit, but I know you’re fond of him, so I’m sorry,” She shrugged, “Mumma Griffin’s probably just giving him a stern talking to,”

“And that takes a whole day?”

“I don’t know, Clarke,” Raven laid back down and moved her hand to intertwine Clarke’s fingers with her own.

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll make out with you again,” Raven’s eyes were glittering, but there was a concern masked in their depths.

Clarke laughed half-heartedly.

“I’ll think about it,”

After Murphy and the Grounder had been dragged away in different directions, Clarke had been frogmarched back to her room where Major Byrne had once again apologised, and informed her _it’s for your own good_. When she closed the door behind her, she barred it. No matter how hard Clarke had pushed, the solid metal would not give.

_A prisoner in my own room_ , she thought sourly.

Her meals were pushed through her door at the allotted time by a guard with a stern face who wouldn’t speak to her no matter what tactics she tried; sobbing, threatening, flirting. Her mother had neglected to visit her, or indeed pass on any messages.

That night, Clarke had tossed and turned, watching the hands tick round the broken clock face of her father’s watch. When her breakfast tray was delivered, her eyes were rimmed red.

Raven had been her first visitor and Clarke had been so relieved to see a friendly face that she’d almost burst into tears. She’d pressed her friend for answers but Raven was little more help than the Guard.

“They took the girl to Medical, and she’s been in there, quarantined and guarded ever since. They’ve locked down the Med Bay, only patients and staff allowed, no visitors.  The Chancellor’s issued a statement playing down the whole thing and warning everyone not to worry. That’s all I got, sorry,”

She didn’t ask why Clarke had done it, didn’t have to. Raven knew her as well as anybody.

_Was I wrong?_ Clarke had pressed a whisper after a long time of sitting quietly.

_You did what you thought was right,_ had been the answer, _no one knows what the hell they’re doing anyway._ They had laid on their backs staring at the ceiling. And then Clarke had begun her pacing.


End file.
